


Sweats

by Birdbitch



Category: Romeo And Juliet - Shakespeare, SHAKESPEARE William - Works
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-15
Updated: 2013-10-15
Packaged: 2018-01-17 18:02:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1397335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Birdbitch/pseuds/Birdbitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They usually spend time together after Mercutio’s done with dance practice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweats

Mercutio’s not entirely sure he dislikes being pinned down like this beneath Benvolio. No, actually—he rocks his hips up, feeling everything through the leggings he swapped his tights and dancer belt for after practice—he’s pretty positive he’s enjoying this, and if he can read Benvolio at all (and he should be able to, after all this time), he’s enjoying it, too. Benvolio’s lips are hot on Mercutio’s neck, grounding him to the mattress of the small dorm bed and keeping him from floating off like he feels like maybe he should be doing right now.

He angles to get Benvolio’s mouth back on his own, and manages with some success—it’s messy kissing and Benvolio needs to shave and Mercutio bites down weird on Benvolio’s bottom lip, but it’s not bad and the thing is, Mercutio’s really close to coming right then and there. He groans, smacks at Benvolio’s back and Benvolio pulls up and away enough that he can look down at Mercutio. He looks delightfully disheveled and Mercutio’s sure that he’s in a similar state of appearance, but he wears a concerned expression.

“Yeah?”

“I’m really close—” he thinks about warning him further than that, but he’s kissed before he can get another word out and he doesn’t mind that at all, doesn’t mind the way the heat uncoils in his stomach and the way he tenses up and comes in his leggings. Benvolio pulls away and looks between them before laughing. “It’s your fault,” Mercutio says, and it was enough that Benvolio’s jeans have damp spots where they were pressed together. “I can’t walk back to my room like this.”

Benvolio shrugs and climbs off of the bed. “I’ll lend you a pair of sweatpants,” he says, and he goes to his dresser to pull a pair out.

“They’re going to be huge on me,” Mercutio says, but he doesn’t actually mind—he has a habit of taking Benvolio’s clothes anyways. He strips the soiled leggings and his underwear off and leaves them on the floor before deciding to take off the enormous sweater he’s wearing, too (another article of clothing that, coincidentally, belongs to Benvolio). Benvolio tries not to look when Mercutio pulls the sweatpants on, and Mercutio smiles coyly at him. “You can look. It’s not like you haven’t seen it before.”

“I was trying to let you have some sense of modesty but unfortunately, I don’t think you were born with any to begin with.”

“You might be right.” Mercutio presses a kiss against Benvolio’s chin. “Thanks, though. It’s the thought that counts.”


End file.
